peak?"

"For coal. It was an old man from Pennsylvania first thought there
might be such stuff in the mountains near, and it's worth so much here.
Father had found him in one of the towns, with his wife and sick son.
They'd spent all they had, to come West to try to cure the son, and
were very poor. So, of course, father brought them to Sobrante, and the
boy got better at once. They didn't understand any sort of work except
mining, and old Wolfgang couldn't rest without trying to do something
back for father. So he and Otto dug and picked around till they found a
'vein' and then they put up a little cabin near and there they live.
Their name is Winkler, and Elsa, the mother, is the quaintest little
Dutchwoman. Of course, there's never been money enough to work the
mine right. All they can do is to get out enough coal for us to use.
That's why we always have such lovely grate fires in the winter time,
that make the house so cosy. You'll like the Winklers, and you'll
like Elsa's coffee. Go there what time of day you will she always
makes you drink some, sweetened with the wild honey she gets in the hills
and with her goat's milk in it."

Mr. Hale made a wry face.

"Oh! you're sure to like it. It is delicious, drank with a slice of
her hard, sweetened bread. And their little cabin is as clean as can
be. Elsa is a great knitter. She has knitted covers for everything, her
beds, chairs, table, everything. All the furniture is made out of wood
they found in the hills, and when they're not mining Otto carves it
beautifully."

"Are all the people who work for you unfortunate? I mean, was some
misfortune that which made your father engage them?"

"Yes, just that. They are his 'experiments.' He said this valley was
made for every sort of work there was to be done. All men can't be the
same thing, and every man was happiest at his own trade. Young men can
get work anywhere, but dear Sobrante is a Home with a capital H, for
anybody who needs one. My father said the more he trusted people the less
they ever disappointed him. He'd proved his plan was right on his own
single ranch and he was trying to make others do the same on theirs.
Paraiso d'Oro--oh! you're from that same New York. Do you know a--a
Mr. Syndicate, I think he was, who owns Paraiso. Of course, I know in
such a big city you might not, though maybe----"

The listener started, then looked keenly into the innocent face bending
toward him from the broncho's back.